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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34e864c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66176 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66176) diff --git a/old/66176-0.txt b/old/66176-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0dd73c7..0000000 --- a/old/66176-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1028 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Earthmen Ask No Quarter!, by Fox B. Holden - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Earthmen Ask No Quarter! - -Author: Fox B. Holden - -Release Date: August 30, 2021 [eBook #66176] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EARTHMEN ASK NO QUARTER! *** - - - - - General Taylor knew that Earth could not - resist the invaders, so he ordered all units to - surrender. But one commander thought he meant-- - - EARTHMEN ASK NO QUARTER! - - By Fox B. Holden - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - December 1953 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -"Let them in, sergeant." The white-haired New United Nations World -Space Force chief spoke the words as though he had been forced into -the most humiliating surrender in history. And he had been. - -What could he tell them? They were not fools, after all, and he was so -impossibly exhausted.... Uniform was a mess. All day and all night, -words, words, ... and nothing. Too many useless, powerless words, -all adding up to nothing. Foreign space admirals, ground-force field -marshals, defense secretaries from a dozen capitals. - -Where were the ion-field cannon that had been promised for the last -twenty years? Where were the new main-drives? The new alloys? Promises, -always promises--but where in God's name _were_ they? - -And now--now it didn't matter any more. - -He let his massive frame slump tiredly for a moment, elbows flattening -some of the official litter strewn across the broad desk-top, head in -his big hands. - -"General Taylor, sir--" - -He forced the thoughts from his brain with almost the same physical -force with which he shoved his tired body erect. - -"Yes, yes, thank you, sergeant. Good morning, gentlemen. Sorry to have -kept you waiting." - -There were perhaps thirty of them, all civilians, all crowding for a -spot nearest the huge desk, all with stub pencils and sheafs of rumpled -newsprint in their hands. A couple of flash-bulbs went off. - -"General, can you tell us what the aliens' intentions are?" - -And it had begun. - -"I'm authorized to tell you that the alien space ship is hostile. But, -under the circumstances we are convinced with reasonable certainty that -their hostility may be ... mollified to an appreciable degree." - -He watched them as they got the official double-talk down word for -word. And then, "In other words, General--we are counter-attacking?" - -"Sorry. That information is classified." - -"About how high is the alien, sir?" - -"He is circling Earth in an orbit about two thousand miles out, passing -our own stations about once every forty-eight hours." - -"How big is the ship, sir? About what shape?" - -"It is a cigar-shaped vessel, approximately three miles in length and -slightly under one at maximum diameter." - -"Have any of our own ships as yet had actual contact with this craft?" - -"Yes, there has been contact. I am sorry that for the time being the -result cannot be disclosed." - -"There are rumors, General, that the 402nd Space Wing sent a five or -six-ship element of J-83 Lancers from Lunar Base, and that the ships -have not reported back. Is this true, sir?" - -"It is true that they have not been heard from since they left." - -Then a young, unquavering voice cut in softly. "When is it to begin, -sir? And when will we--" - -"You may--write, gentlemen, that the invasion of Earth has already -begun. And, that we have absolutely no defense against it. None. -Because of that fact, the decision of the New U. N. Joint Chiefs has -been that there should be no needless loss of life. You may write that -we have--that we have already surrendered." - -His face felt as though it were hewn from wood--a strange wood with a -fever in it. He had spoken far beyond his authorization. But they had -to know. They could not be lied to forever. And the lies had always, -ultimately, been worthless things. He was so _tired_. - -"General, can you tell us _why_?" - -The group was white-faced, still. The flash-bulbs had stopped popping. -The first impulse to bolt the General's office for the nearest bank of -press telephones had somehow died even as it had arisen. Belief and -disbelief mingled as one in the eyes of each. - -"I'll try gentlemen," Taylor said wearily, leaning across the desk, -his knuckles white against the smooth surface. "I could talk about our -stressing of cultural advancement in this 21st century, rather than -technological ... a trend that has always made us of the military -fearful of the future--now at hand--but what's the use of rehashing -problems of the past.... Plainly and simply, gentlemen, the Invader is -superior to us in every phase of known warfare. Add to that the element -of a surprise attack and you find us as we are at this moment--beaten, -irreparably." - -No one said anything. There was nothing to say. - -General Taylor sank into his chair and stared at them, a grim -hopelessness in his eyes. - -Then the newsmen walked from the room. Slowly and silently. - - * * * * * - -Robert Manning, civilian Pentagon clerk, told himself that the Invaders -might better kill everybody off and get it over with than to just -regiment the hell out of everything. A man couldn't even stay home so -his wife could take care of his cold for him. - -He sneezed. If allowed to live it, there were perhaps forty years of -life yet for him. Forty years, and they would be slave years. It was -all too damned new and just hadn't got through to him yet. What in -God's name was it going to be _like_.... - -There was a sickness in his stomach, and he knew it was not from his -cold. - -"Manning--" - -He looked up. It was Sweeney, the chief clerk. Manning always thought -of him as a man who should've been a first-sergeant somewhere. He was -big enough and loud enough, and certainly had temper enough. - -"Yes, Mr. Sweeney?" - -"Need these damn records right away. They all here? Each reel -double-wound with positive and negative both?" - -"Yes, sir." Sweeney picked up the bundlesome stack of microfilm reels. -"Mr. Sweeney--" - -"What is it?" - -"Are--are _They_ going to get 'em? All of Earth's Space outpost and -military records--_every_thing?" - -"After the Joint Chiefs make out emergency recall orders for every -last damn unit, they are. They will check each set of orders against -every unit record here, all the way from Corps down to each individual -ship." Sweeney grunted. "Then they'll burn 'em, positives, negatives, -everything ... then when the ships come in, they will destroy them too." - -Manning felt something turn over inside him. "General Taylor,--" - -"What the hell can Taylor do? Christ, you're better off than he is. -Once every ship is back here and busted up, he won't even have a job. -Maybe not even a head." - -"Every ship. They're all there, Mr. Sweeney. Positives and negatives -double-wound on every reel." - -"They better be. Or _you_ won't have a damn head!" - -Sweeney turned and steamrollered out of the office, with every existing -record past and present of General Taylor's New U. N. World Space Force -under one beefy arm. For security reasons, Manning realized, there had -been made but a single copy and negative for each of its units. - -His desk was an old one, practically an antique dating back to the -1940's, and his sonotyper was buried deep in its insides on a wooden -shelf that folded out to meet you in an awkward manner when you pushed -the desk-top up, over and down. - -Manning pushed, and with a couple of bronchial grunts produced the -sonotyper. He fed in a continuous paper spool, turned on the current, -unhooked the compact microphone from the machine's side, and began -dictating the rest of his day's work. - -Something got kicked viciously out of the key-bed. Black, shiny squares -of something. All he needed was for the sonotyper to go haywire and -start shooting its complex insides all over. - -He stopped dictating to remove his glasses and dry his streaming eyes. -His vision cleared, and for an instant settled on the shiny things -that had landed near the front edge of his desk. - -Hunks of microfilm. - -He picked them up, held one to the light. Words. He fished in a drawer, -found a magnifying glass that was used for half-obliterated old files. - -He could see the words better, but they were backwards. He had the -negative. Impatiently, he grabbed the other square. And read it. - -And shivered. And again, it wasn't his cold that was bothering him. He -would have to call Sweeney right away-- - -... _Light Space Brigade, Experimental. Temporary outpost, Callisto. -Force: 20 Lancer-type J-88 destroyers. Complement: 600. Commanding: -Col. Geofferey Steele_-- - -He felt his insides turning to cold jelly. He would have to call -Sweeney. God! Sweeney would skin him alive. Somehow, the tail ends -of one of the double-wound reels must have stuck out a little, got -sliced neatly off when he'd hastily jammed its pan-cover back on after -inspecting it. Then the severed squares of microfilm had slipped down, -unnoticed, through one of the desk-top cracks where the sonotyper -fold-away unit was. And landed in the key-bed. Only Sweeney wouldn't -understand it that way. And the Joint Chiefs-- - -Oh God no! - -He had to think. - -And he thought of that other name. On the microfilm record--Steele, it -was, who commanded 600 men, twenty J-88s.... - -He thought of forty years of slavery. - -And then he was doing a crazy thing--crazy-- - -While no one looked, Robert Manning sneezed and blew his nose and -touched the flame of his cigarette lighter to the two squares of -microfilm. - - * * * * * - -The white-faced communications sergeant stood just inside the door, and -this time he failed to be impressed with the unusual smartness of the -Colonel's acknowledging salute. The thick sheaf of yellow papers he -held in his left hand was trembling visibly, noisily, and he couldn't -make it stop. - -"Well, Grady, what is it? You look as though you'd picked up a telepath -message from one of our Callistan cap-crawlers, or something--" -He reached out for the quaking message the sergeant held, and the -communications man smiled nervously and held it out to him. - -"Sorry, sir. I--I guess I just--" - -"No trouble, boy?" The stocky black-and-silver uniformed figure -paused in its movement, the thick pile of yellow papers momentarily -forgotten. All of Steele's personnel seemed like sons to him. Even the -raw recruits who had previously never been further out than Earth's -own Moon. Sometimes, during the lonely hours there had been in the -fastnesses of Space, he had surmised it was because there had never -been a real son of his own with whom to share the adventures of his -calling. - -But hadn't it been Space itself that had denied him those many things -other men could take for granted--the things for which he had never -quite been able to trade? Forty years of it. Venus to Pluto. Deep Space -at the System's rim and beyond, to the very edge of Infinity itself. - -Sometimes this deep hurt within him seemed too great. And yet, somehow, -it seemed always worth the venture. One day, no matter the cost or the -hurt, men's outposts would be flung to the stars themselves. This thing -he knew. - -The sergeant was speaking, and there was a fear in his eyes. - -"Something's--happened, home, sir. You'd better read this right away. -All the way to the very end, sir." - -Steele ran a freckled, stub-fingered hand slowly and deliberately along -the close-cropped iron-gray side of his squarish skull. - -_Attention all stations, the message read. URGENT IMPERATIVE. Earth -has been successfully invaded. The rapidity, timing, and infallibility -of the attack has made the necessity of immediate capitulation -unquestionable. The following-listed units are therefore commanded, for -the good of the planet, to return to home Earth bases at once, with -all armament either completely dismantled or destroyed. The conquerors -have warned that failure to comply with this command will result in -wholesale liquidation of Earth's populace._ - -The long list of outposts followed for fifteen closely-spaced pages. -The message was signed _Taylor, General, New United Nations World Space -Force, Commanding_. - -Steele suddenly felt himself struggling to keep order for full-scale -attack bottled in his throat. - -Then he fought to keep from simply cursing. - -He fought to keep the hot, quick panic in him from boiling into some -unthinkable suicide. - -The sergeant still stood before him, the thing of awful fear deep in -his eyes. - -"Get Major Zukow at once, sergeant." - -"Yes, sir. But sir--" - -"What is it?" His jaws hurt, and he could feel the words hissing from -between his teeth. - -"The list, sir. We're the smallest and newest unit there is, so we'd -lie right at the bottom, page fifteen. But we're not there. We're not -listed at all, sir." - -He looked. Grady was right. And OK'd and signed by Taylor himself, no -mistaking that. - -"Get Major Zukow, sergeant. On the double!" - -"Yes, sir!" The communications non-com stumbled awkardly; -acclimatization to lesser gravities came quickly only with long -experience. He recovered, and then in a curious loping fashion began to -run. - - * * * * * - -For terse seconds Steele spoke clipped words into a unit-communicator. -And then he waited for Zukow. - -It would be a moment, or so yet. He looked at the message again, -re-read it, tried to glean information from it that it didn't contain. -It told what, but it didn't tell _why_. Nor even how. It was just -a command, to be obeyed like any other command. No, it wasn't the -soldier's place to question. Never the soldier's place to question. - -Here is an ideal, they would say. Here is the thing you must work -or fight for. Here is what is worth believing in. And the soldier -believed. If he did not he was fortunate, for then he just had a job -to do. But if he believed, he was the most hapless creature in the -Universe. For sooner or later, the ideal wore thin as a facade for the -more practical expediencies which moved behind it. What true ideal -there was with the soldier, yet his was not the freedom to serve it.... -And when the ideal was suddenly scrapped; when they said now, now it -is all over, now this is what you must do--here is a new thing to -believe.... - -_Forty years, from the bogs of Venus to the wastes of Pluto_.... - -He looked again at the list headed _ALL UNITS_: and checked them, one -by one. - -Grady had been right. Experimental simply wasn't there. Maybe an -experimental Light Space Brigade on a dark little world like Callisto -could get lost in the shuffle. - -But he knew better. With Earth at stake, Taylor would allow no such -error. Taylor knew every one of his units by heart, he must.... - -He thought about Taylor. He thought about him the way he had known him -as both soldier and individual, as general and as a man. Character. -Principle. Guts. The three biggest things about Taylor. A man who -followed orders to the letter--a man who would surrender of his own -volition, no matter what price to pay the piper ... that was where the -principle came in; the character, the guts. - -He looked at Taylor's facsimile-signature again. Signed by force? By -threat? Obviously. The message itself said as much. But if somehow -there'd been a mistake, a record overlooked, Taylor would know, and -would-- - -_But who else would know? At a glance, who else would know? And then -how much would Taylor dare?_ - -For one of the rare times in his life, Steele was frightened to his -core. - -"Colonel Steele, sir!" Major Zukow snapped a perfunctory salute, -put himself at rest and lowered his towering square-cut body into a -laxerchair. The healthy pink in his broad face and the purposefulness -in the set of his clean-cut features made him look younger than he -was, and the close-cropped black hair was like an added insigne of his -profession to his perfectly-fitted uniform. - -"You'd better take a look at this, Georgi. And then we've got to get -things moving." Steele handed the order across his desk. - -He waited while Zukow read. He watched Zukow's face. It seemed to -gradually coagulate. - -And when he was finished, Steele said, "Now find us on there!" - -"But I don't--anything else, any other details? Is this--?" - -"It's as true as the leaves on your shoulders, Major. And that's all -there is, so far. Grady will be in with anything else when and if it -should come. Well? What are you thinking?" - -"Thinking? If this damned thing isn't some criminal joke, there's no -thinking to it, Colonel. We just _go_, period. I'll get--" - -"Just a minute. Did you try to find us on there? What do you make of -that?" - -"A mistake. Some clerical mistake, that's all. What else could be made -of it? On an order like this?" - -Steele shifted in his swivel-seat, and a neglected spring squawked its -protest. "Suppose," he began slowly, "it was a mistake, Major. But -Taylor put his name to it anyway, just the way it is. Now, do you think -he'd be _likely_ to miss such an error?" - - * * * * * - -Zukow hesitated, a scowl corrugating his wide forehead. "No I don't -think so, but whether he was likely to or not hasn't anything to do -with it. The mistake was made--he didn't catch it, but he signed it, -sent it, and it means us like all the rest of 'em, period!" - -"I think he caught it, Major." - -"What do you--" - -"I mean just that. He caught it. _And still signed it!_" - -"Colonel, don't be crazy! With a gun in his back--" - -"Just the point. The people holding the gun would of course have -grabbed the records as a check against Taylor's written command. -It's the only way they'd have of knowing what was what. They'd do -all they could to make sure they were given the complete works, of -course, but ultimately, they'd have to trust Taylor--trust his fear of -their terrible power and staggering advantage. Only--let's say there -_was_ a mistake. One way for it to be caught. Taylor--he'd know at a -glance--the one man who would. And he still signed it!" - -"Nuts, Colonel, nuts! What you are suggesting is absolute nonsense. -With the lives of billions of people in the balance, you mean he'd--" - -"Leave it up to us." - -"With only twenty J-88s? With a planetful of people in the balance. -Sir, do you think Taylor's a lunatic or something?" - -Steele groped for an answer that would take the cold logic out of -Zukow's questions. The exec had to be wrong. There must be an answer. - -"Zukow," he heard himself saying at last, "there were only three of -our craft out today--all behind the Big Boy, and I've ordered them -in--damped, and clammed up. I've grounded the rest. And if we don't get -anything from communications within the next couple of hours, like a -Notification of Error and Correction--" - -"You must be out of your head, Colonel." Zukow stood up, towered over -the big desk. Veins in his wide forehead stood out redly, accentuating -the growing color in his stiffened face. "In a couple of hours we go -into eclipse! Not for long, but while we are, we won't be _able_ to -pick up anything. Suppose _then_ the notification comes? While we're -working out some crazy plan still thinking Taylor was trying to pull a -cute one? Do you think we can take a gamble like that? Do you think we -have the _right_ to take a gamble like that?" - -"As it is," Steele replied slowly, "our people are to be slaves. For -all we know, forever." - -"A little dramatic, aren't you?" - -"Would you call it a situation to be taken lightly?" - -The other straightened, said nothing. - -"Major, Taylor was taking a shot in the dark. We're a fantastically -slim hope--but we're the _only_ one he's got!" - -"And I think that right now you are a greater enemy to Earth than all -her Invaders!" - -"'Liberty or death,' Major, that's what Taylor was saying to us when -he knowingly put his signature to a fluke error!" - -"Oh for God's sake Colonel, come off it! It sounds just jim-dandy but -you haven't even got a plan! Infinity to zero, those are your odds! And -if I thought you were seriously considering _not_ going in. I'd--" - -"Yes, Major, you'd what?" - -The door opened. It was Grady. There was a communication folder in his -hand. - -Silently, Steele took the folder. There was an expectant look on -Zukow's flushed face as his superior read the brief message. Then -Steele looked up. - -"No," he said. "It's not a Notification of Error and Correction. Simply -a follow-up directive ordering all recalled craft to navigate the -final ten thousand miles of their Earth-approaches in intervals of not -less than twenty minutes each. Seems the Invaders have their entire -headquarters and supply set-up in a mother-ship circling Earth--and -they aren't taking any chances." - -"Under these conditions, then--" - -"As far as we are concerned, Major, the conditions are the same!" - -For a moment Zukow stood immobile, his dark eyes snapping down to lock -with Steele's. But the colonel's did not flinch. And then the Major -pivoted, and left Steele suddenly alone in the small office. - - * * * * * - -He had hardly completed the all-units bulletin when the call-buzzer -from Operations sounded. Within the next hour his six hundred men, his -twenty small J-88 Lancers would be loaded to the fins with all the arms -they could carry, and then.... - -Fleetingly, the thought nagged at him. Was Zukow a coward--or right? -Twenty tiny J-88s balanced against the lives of four billion people.... -Yet there would be surprise, and the over-confidence of a powerful -victor after an easy conquest. And more, there would be the will of a -small band of men. - -He flipped up the buzzer-switch, and the Operations lieutenant appeared -on his small desk viewer. - -"Yes, lieutenant? Did your group have some difficulty in understanding -my bulletin?" - -"No, sir. We're getting things Space-shape at our end right now. But, -sir--you said that twenty craft were to be prepared." - -"Yes that's correct. All of them." - -"But there will be only nineteen, sir. Major Zukow blasted off nearly -a half-hour before your announcement, in a completely unarmed J-88 -and--he said--on your authorization." - -For a moment Steele said nothing. His mind seethed, yet he understood. - -"Very well, lieutenant. You will stand by for a second bulletin." - -The young officer's face faded from the screen, and Steele tried to -think. Obvious, of course, but he wondered how much Zukow could be -blamed. A frightened man. A coward, perhaps, doing what he thought was -right. - -But it was _not_ right! - -And they must now act swiftly. For if the enemy were warned in -sufficient time.... - -Infinity to zero, Zukow had said, were his odds. Perhaps. - -But there would be nineteen J-88s, armed to the fins.... - - * * * * * - -They had kept Zukow waiting three hours after he landed. He had -immediately been placed under guard upon setting the unarmed Lancer -down at National Spaceport, and they had not believed him until his -shouts of protest had been overheard by one of their officers. It had -almost been for nothing-- - -But now they were taking him to the Pentagon; into Taylor's own suite -of offices. - -And Taylor was there. A different-looking Taylor than Zukow -remembered--no longer the bulky, solid-looking figure. Wan, drawn, as -were those few of his staff working with him under the orders of the -alien commander. - -It was the alien who spoke. Taylor sat white and silent. - -"My officers inform me that you have attempted to convince them of an -impossible story, Earthman," he said. He was man-like, only taller. His -head was bald and like a fleshless skull, and there was the glitter of -a strong intelligence behind the widely-spaced double-lidded red eyes. - -And Zukow repeated his story. Shamefully, fearfully, he told it. And -as he did, new color flushed Taylor's lined face, then subsided to the -whiteness of helpless anger. - -"Your story will be checked carefully," the alien commander said in a -slurred, yet fluent English. "If it is true--" - -And that was all he said. There was a sudden flurry of movement, and -General Taylor had wrested a weapon from the alien's belt. He squeezed -its trigger in quick, desperate spasms, squeezed, squeezed.... - -Zukow lay headless on the floor. Zukow--the alien commander, and his -guards. - -"Hide them! We've got to hide them!" Taylor was yelling at his -paralyzed aides. "If Steele can pull it off--can wreck that hellish -mother-ship of theirs, they'll be cut off down here--done for! Come on -for God's sake help me!" - -They sprang into action then. - -And with the weapons from the slain aliens, waited silently behind the -bolted office door. - -Taylor's wasted frame was tensed. Minutes ... hours ... or death in -seconds, perhaps. They could only wait. - - * * * * * - -They came out of the Sun. - -Nineteen flat, finned, stream-lined shapes, orange flame gouting from -them as from the lips of Hell itself, hurtling headlong with some -terrible vengeance glowing in their overheated tubes. - -Then Space was suddenly gaping holes of searing color, bursting -soundlessly as the nineteen became seventeen, fourteen, twelve. - -The twelve became ten, and it was as though the bowels of the Sun -itself had erupted to the right and to the left of them, and everywhere -before and behind them. - -Eight of them completed the first pass, and already there were yawning -holes in the gleaming hide of their enemy. - -They turned, came on again. Their torpedo-tubes sparkled, and five full -salvos struck. The alien mother-ship spilled white flame from a gaping -rupture in her flank, and three ships were left to close a second time. - -Then two flat, finned, stream-lined shapes did not pull from their -pass. They hurtled, instead, headlong into the wounded juggernaut's -very heart. - -Drunkenly, and with almost deliberate slowness, it split in two, a -slain thing, spewing its broken structure and shattered creatures with -crazy abandon toward the great blue seas of Earth beneath. - -One now there was, its flag-ship insigne half-scorched from its -twisted, battered hull. Yet it hurtled through the blackness of Space -toward the planet below it, the flush of victory shimmering in its -overheated tubes. - - * * * * * - -There was little to be said. General Taylor stood at the side of the -white hospital bed, and Colonel Geofferey Steele, his head swathed in -bandages, looked questioningly up at him. - -"General, did Major Zukow--" - -Taylor's mouth was grim. "He reached us--and the aliens. But we ... -managed to take care of the situation ... to give you time." The -General's features softened. "You and your crew--a magnificent job. -Earth is proud--" - -"We were lucky, sir," Steele attempted a grin. "Tried hard not to make -any mistakes...." - -Taylor smiled then, his laughter an emotional release they had both -been seeking. "I--occasionally overlook mistakes!" he said. - -And then the two men laughed together. For a long time. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EARTHMEN ASK NO QUARTER! *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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Holden</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Earthmen Ask No Quarter!</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Fox B. Holden</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 30, 2021 [eBook #66176]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EARTHMEN ASK NO QUARTER! ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p>General Taylor knew that Earth could not<br /> -resist the invaders, so he ordered all units to<br /> -surrender. But one commander thought he meant—</p> - -<h1>EARTHMEN ASK NO QUARTER!</h1> - -<h2>By Fox B. Holden</h2> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -December 1953<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"Let them in, sergeant." The white-haired New United Nations World -Space Force chief spoke the words as though he had been forced into -the most humiliating surrender in history. And he had been.</p> - -<p>What could he tell them? They were not fools, after all, and he was so -impossibly exhausted.... Uniform was a mess. All day and all night, -words, words, ... and nothing. Too many useless, powerless words, -all adding up to nothing. Foreign space admirals, ground-force field -marshals, defense secretaries from a dozen capitals.</p> - -<p>Where were the ion-field cannon that had been promised for the last -twenty years? Where were the new main-drives? The new alloys? Promises, -always promises—but where in God's name <i>were</i> they?</p> - -<p>And now—now it didn't matter any more.</p> - -<p>He let his massive frame slump tiredly for a moment, elbows flattening -some of the official litter strewn across the broad desk-top, head in -his big hands.</p> - -<p>"General Taylor, sir—"</p> - -<p>He forced the thoughts from his brain with almost the same physical -force with which he shoved his tired body erect.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, thank you, sergeant. Good morning, gentlemen. Sorry to have -kept you waiting."</p> - -<p>There were perhaps thirty of them, all civilians, all crowding for a -spot nearest the huge desk, all with stub pencils and sheafs of rumpled -newsprint in their hands. A couple of flash-bulbs went off.</p> - -<p>"General, can you tell us what the aliens' intentions are?"</p> - -<p>And it had begun.</p> - -<p>"I'm authorized to tell you that the alien space ship is hostile. But, -under the circumstances we are convinced with reasonable certainty that -their hostility may be ... mollified to an appreciable degree."</p> - -<p>He watched them as they got the official double-talk down word for -word. And then, "In other words, General—we are counter-attacking?"</p> - -<p>"Sorry. That information is classified."</p> - -<p>"About how high is the alien, sir?"</p> - -<p>"He is circling Earth in an orbit about two thousand miles out, passing -our own stations about once every forty-eight hours."</p> - -<p>"How big is the ship, sir? About what shape?"</p> - -<p>"It is a cigar-shaped vessel, approximately three miles in length and -slightly under one at maximum diameter."</p> - -<p>"Have any of our own ships as yet had actual contact with this craft?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, there has been contact. I am sorry that for the time being the -result cannot be disclosed."</p> - -<p>"There are rumors, General, that the 402nd Space Wing sent a five or -six-ship element of J-83 Lancers from Lunar Base, and that the ships -have not reported back. Is this true, sir?"</p> - -<p>"It is true that they have not been heard from since they left."</p> - -<p>Then a young, unquavering voice cut in softly. "When is it to begin, -sir? And when will we—"</p> - -<p>"You may—write, gentlemen, that the invasion of Earth has already -begun. And, that we have absolutely no defense against it. None. -Because of that fact, the decision of the New U. N. Joint Chiefs has -been that there should be no needless loss of life. You may write that -we have—that we have already surrendered."</p> - -<p>His face felt as though it were hewn from wood—a strange wood with a -fever in it. He had spoken far beyond his authorization. But they had -to know. They could not be lied to forever. And the lies had always, -ultimately, been worthless things. He was so <i>tired</i>.</p> - -<p>"General, can you tell us <i>why</i>?"</p> - -<p>The group was white-faced, still. The flash-bulbs had stopped popping. -The first impulse to bolt the General's office for the nearest bank of -press telephones had somehow died even as it had arisen. Belief and -disbelief mingled as one in the eyes of each.</p> - -<p>"I'll try gentlemen," Taylor said wearily, leaning across the desk, -his knuckles white against the smooth surface. "I could talk about our -stressing of cultural advancement in this 21st century, rather than -technological ... a trend that has always made us of the military -fearful of the future—now at hand—but what's the use of rehashing -problems of the past.... Plainly and simply, gentlemen, the Invader is -superior to us in every phase of known warfare. Add to that the element -of a surprise attack and you find us as we are at this moment—beaten, -irreparably."</p> - -<p>No one said anything. There was nothing to say.</p> - -<p>General Taylor sank into his chair and stared at them, a grim -hopelessness in his eyes.</p> - -<p>Then the newsmen walked from the room. Slowly and silently.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Robert Manning, civilian Pentagon clerk, told himself that the Invaders -might better kill everybody off and get it over with than to just -regiment the hell out of everything. A man couldn't even stay home so -his wife could take care of his cold for him.</p> - -<p>He sneezed. If allowed to live it, there were perhaps forty years of -life yet for him. Forty years, and they would be slave years. It was -all too damned new and just hadn't got through to him yet. What in -God's name was it going to be <i>like</i>....</p> - -<p>There was a sickness in his stomach, and he knew it was not from his -cold.</p> - -<p>"Manning—"</p> - -<p>He looked up. It was Sweeney, the chief clerk. Manning always thought -of him as a man who should've been a first-sergeant somewhere. He was -big enough and loud enough, and certainly had temper enough.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Sweeney?"</p> - -<p>"Need these damn records right away. They all here? Each reel -double-wound with positive and negative both?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir." Sweeney picked up the bundlesome stack of microfilm reels. -"Mr. Sweeney—"</p> - -<p>"What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Are—are <i>They</i> going to get 'em? All of Earth's Space outpost and -military records—<i>every</i>thing?"</p> - -<p>"After the Joint Chiefs make out emergency recall orders for every -last damn unit, they are. They will check each set of orders against -every unit record here, all the way from Corps down to each individual -ship." Sweeney grunted. "Then they'll burn 'em, positives, negatives, -everything ... then when the ships come in, they will destroy them too."</p> - -<p>Manning felt something turn over inside him. "General Taylor,—"</p> - -<p>"What the hell can Taylor do? Christ, you're better off than he is. -Once every ship is back here and busted up, he won't even have a job. -Maybe not even a head."</p> - -<p>"Every ship. They're all there, Mr. Sweeney. Positives and negatives -double-wound on every reel."</p> - -<p>"They better be. Or <i>you</i> won't have a damn head!"</p> - -<p>Sweeney turned and steamrollered out of the office, with every existing -record past and present of General Taylor's New U. N. World Space Force -under one beefy arm. For security reasons, Manning realized, there had -been made but a single copy and negative for each of its units.</p> - -<p>His desk was an old one, practically an antique dating back to the -1940's, and his sonotyper was buried deep in its insides on a wooden -shelf that folded out to meet you in an awkward manner when you pushed -the desk-top up, over and down.</p> - -<p>Manning pushed, and with a couple of bronchial grunts produced the -sonotyper. He fed in a continuous paper spool, turned on the current, -unhooked the compact microphone from the machine's side, and began -dictating the rest of his day's work.</p> - -<p>Something got kicked viciously out of the key-bed. Black, shiny squares -of something. All he needed was for the sonotyper to go haywire and -start shooting its complex insides all over.</p> - -<p>He stopped dictating to remove his glasses and dry his streaming eyes. -His vision cleared, and for an instant settled on the shiny things -that had landed near the front edge of his desk.</p> - -<p>Hunks of microfilm.</p> - -<p>He picked them up, held one to the light. Words. He fished in a drawer, -found a magnifying glass that was used for half-obliterated old files.</p> - -<p>He could see the words better, but they were backwards. He had the -negative. Impatiently, he grabbed the other square. And read it.</p> - -<p>And shivered. And again, it wasn't his cold that was bothering him. He -would have to call Sweeney right away—</p> - -<p>... <i>Light Space Brigade, Experimental. Temporary outpost, Callisto. -Force: 20 Lancer-type J-88 destroyers. Complement: 600. Commanding: -Col. Geofferey Steele</i>—</p> - -<p>He felt his insides turning to cold jelly. He would have to call -Sweeney. God! Sweeney would skin him alive. Somehow, the tail ends -of one of the double-wound reels must have stuck out a little, got -sliced neatly off when he'd hastily jammed its pan-cover back on after -inspecting it. Then the severed squares of microfilm had slipped down, -unnoticed, through one of the desk-top cracks where the sonotyper -fold-away unit was. And landed in the key-bed. Only Sweeney wouldn't -understand it that way. And the Joint Chiefs—</p> - -<p>Oh God no!</p> - -<p>He had to think.</p> - -<p>And he thought of that other name. On the microfilm record—Steele, it -was, who commanded 600 men, twenty J-88s....</p> - -<p>He thought of forty years of slavery.</p> - -<p>And then he was doing a crazy thing—crazy—</p> - -<p>While no one looked, Robert Manning sneezed and blew his nose and -touched the flame of his cigarette lighter to the two squares of -microfilm.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The white-faced communications sergeant stood just inside the door, and -this time he failed to be impressed with the unusual smartness of the -Colonel's acknowledging salute. The thick sheaf of yellow papers he -held in his left hand was trembling visibly, noisily, and he couldn't -make it stop.</p> - -<p>"Well, Grady, what is it? You look as though you'd picked up a telepath -message from one of our Callistan cap-crawlers, or something—" -He reached out for the quaking message the sergeant held, and the -communications man smiled nervously and held it out to him.</p> - -<p>"Sorry, sir. I—I guess I just—"</p> - -<p>"No trouble, boy?" The stocky black-and-silver uniformed figure -paused in its movement, the thick pile of yellow papers momentarily -forgotten. All of Steele's personnel seemed like sons to him. Even the -raw recruits who had previously never been further out than Earth's -own Moon. Sometimes, during the lonely hours there had been in the -fastnesses of Space, he had surmised it was because there had never -been a real son of his own with whom to share the adventures of his -calling.</p> - -<p>But hadn't it been Space itself that had denied him those many things -other men could take for granted—the things for which he had never -quite been able to trade? Forty years of it. Venus to Pluto. Deep Space -at the System's rim and beyond, to the very edge of Infinity itself.</p> - -<p>Sometimes this deep hurt within him seemed too great. And yet, somehow, -it seemed always worth the venture. One day, no matter the cost or the -hurt, men's outposts would be flung to the stars themselves. This thing -he knew.</p> - -<p>The sergeant was speaking, and there was a fear in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Something's—happened, home, sir. You'd better read this right away. -All the way to the very end, sir."</p> - -<p>Steele ran a freckled, stub-fingered hand slowly and deliberately along -the close-cropped iron-gray side of his squarish skull.</p> - -<p><i>Attention all stations, the message read. URGENT IMPERATIVE. Earth -has been successfully invaded. The rapidity, timing, and infallibility -of the attack has made the necessity of immediate capitulation -unquestionable. The following-listed units are therefore commanded, for -the good of the planet, to return to home Earth bases at once, with -all armament either completely dismantled or destroyed. The conquerors -have warned that failure to comply with this command will result in -wholesale liquidation of Earth's populace.</i></p> - -<p>The long list of outposts followed for fifteen closely-spaced pages. -The message was signed <i>Taylor, General, New United Nations World Space -Force, Commanding</i>.</p> - -<p>Steele suddenly felt himself struggling to keep order for full-scale -attack bottled in his throat.</p> - -<p>Then he fought to keep from simply cursing.</p> - -<p>He fought to keep the hot, quick panic in him from boiling into some -unthinkable suicide.</p> - -<p>The sergeant still stood before him, the thing of awful fear deep in -his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Get Major Zukow at once, sergeant."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. But sir—"</p> - -<p>"What is it?" His jaws hurt, and he could feel the words hissing from -between his teeth.</p> - -<p>"The list, sir. We're the smallest and newest unit there is, so we'd -lie right at the bottom, page fifteen. But we're not there. We're not -listed at all, sir."</p> - -<p>He looked. Grady was right. And OK'd and signed by Taylor himself, no -mistaking that.</p> - -<p>"Get Major Zukow, sergeant. On the double!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir!" The communications non-com stumbled awkardly; -acclimatization to lesser gravities came quickly only with long -experience. He recovered, and then in a curious loping fashion began to -run.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For terse seconds Steele spoke clipped words into a unit-communicator. -And then he waited for Zukow.</p> - -<p>It would be a moment, or so yet. He looked at the message again, -re-read it, tried to glean information from it that it didn't contain. -It told what, but it didn't tell <i>why</i>. Nor even how. It was just -a command, to be obeyed like any other command. No, it wasn't the -soldier's place to question. Never the soldier's place to question.</p> - -<p>Here is an ideal, they would say. Here is the thing you must work -or fight for. Here is what is worth believing in. And the soldier -believed. If he did not he was fortunate, for then he just had a job -to do. But if he believed, he was the most hapless creature in the -Universe. For sooner or later, the ideal wore thin as a facade for the -more practical expediencies which moved behind it. What true ideal -there was with the soldier, yet his was not the freedom to serve it.... -And when the ideal was suddenly scrapped; when they said now, now it -is all over, now this is what you must do—here is a new thing to -believe....</p> - -<p><i>Forty years, from the bogs of Venus to the wastes of Pluto</i>....</p> - -<p>He looked again at the list headed <i>ALL UNITS</i>: and checked them, one -by one.</p> - -<p>Grady had been right. Experimental simply wasn't there. Maybe an -experimental Light Space Brigade on a dark little world like Callisto -could get lost in the shuffle.</p> - -<p>But he knew better. With Earth at stake, Taylor would allow no such -error. Taylor knew every one of his units by heart, he must....</p> - -<p>He thought about Taylor. He thought about him the way he had known him -as both soldier and individual, as general and as a man. Character. -Principle. Guts. The three biggest things about Taylor. A man who -followed orders to the letter—a man who would surrender of his own -volition, no matter what price to pay the piper ... that was where the -principle came in; the character, the guts.</p> - -<p>He looked at Taylor's facsimile-signature again. Signed by force? By -threat? Obviously. The message itself said as much. But if somehow -there'd been a mistake, a record overlooked, Taylor would know, and -would—</p> - -<p><i>But who else would know? At a glance, who else would know? And then -how much would Taylor dare?</i></p> - -<p>For one of the rare times in his life, Steele was frightened to his -core.</p> - -<p>"Colonel Steele, sir!" Major Zukow snapped a perfunctory salute, -put himself at rest and lowered his towering square-cut body into a -laxerchair. The healthy pink in his broad face and the purposefulness -in the set of his clean-cut features made him look younger than he -was, and the close-cropped black hair was like an added insigne of his -profession to his perfectly-fitted uniform.</p> - -<p>"You'd better take a look at this, Georgi. And then we've got to get -things moving." Steele handed the order across his desk.</p> - -<p>He waited while Zukow read. He watched Zukow's face. It seemed to -gradually coagulate.</p> - -<p>And when he was finished, Steele said, "Now find us on there!"</p> - -<p>"But I don't—anything else, any other details? Is this—?"</p> - -<p>"It's as true as the leaves on your shoulders, Major. And that's all -there is, so far. Grady will be in with anything else when and if it -should come. Well? What are you thinking?"</p> - -<p>"Thinking? If this damned thing isn't some criminal joke, there's no -thinking to it, Colonel. We just <i>go</i>, period. I'll get—"</p> - -<p>"Just a minute. Did you try to find us on there? What do you make of -that?"</p> - -<p>"A mistake. Some clerical mistake, that's all. What else could be made -of it? On an order like this?"</p> - -<p>Steele shifted in his swivel-seat, and a neglected spring squawked its -protest. "Suppose," he began slowly, "it was a mistake, Major. But -Taylor put his name to it anyway, just the way it is. Now, do you think -he'd be <i>likely</i> to miss such an error?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Zukow hesitated, a scowl corrugating his wide forehead. "No I don't -think so, but whether he was likely to or not hasn't anything to do -with it. The mistake was made—he didn't catch it, but he signed it, -sent it, and it means us like all the rest of 'em, period!"</p> - -<p>"I think he caught it, Major."</p> - -<p>"What do you—"</p> - -<p>"I mean just that. He caught it. <i>And still signed it!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Colonel, don't be crazy! With a gun in his back—"</p> - -<p>"Just the point. The people holding the gun would of course have -grabbed the records as a check against Taylor's written command. -It's the only way they'd have of knowing what was what. They'd do -all they could to make sure they were given the complete works, of -course, but ultimately, they'd have to trust Taylor—trust his fear of -their terrible power and staggering advantage. Only—let's say there -<i>was</i> a mistake. One way for it to be caught. Taylor—he'd know at a -glance—the one man who would. And he still signed it!"</p> - -<p>"Nuts, Colonel, nuts! What you are suggesting is absolute nonsense. -With the lives of billions of people in the balance, you mean he'd—"</p> - -<p>"Leave it up to us."</p> - -<p>"With only twenty J-88s? With a planetful of people in the balance. -Sir, do you think Taylor's a lunatic or something?"</p> - -<p>Steele groped for an answer that would take the cold logic out of -Zukow's questions. The exec had to be wrong. There must be an answer.</p> - -<p>"Zukow," he heard himself saying at last, "there were only three of -our craft out today—all behind the Big Boy, and I've ordered them -in—damped, and clammed up. I've grounded the rest. And if we don't get -anything from communications within the next couple of hours, like a -Notification of Error and Correction—"</p> - -<p>"You must be out of your head, Colonel." Zukow stood up, towered over -the big desk. Veins in his wide forehead stood out redly, accentuating -the growing color in his stiffened face. "In a couple of hours we go -into eclipse! Not for long, but while we are, we won't be <i>able</i> to -pick up anything. Suppose <i>then</i> the notification comes? While we're -working out some crazy plan still thinking Taylor was trying to pull a -cute one? Do you think we can take a gamble like that? Do you think we -have the <i>right</i> to take a gamble like that?"</p> - -<p>"As it is," Steele replied slowly, "our people are to be slaves. For -all we know, forever."</p> - -<p>"A little dramatic, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"Would you call it a situation to be taken lightly?"</p> - -<p>The other straightened, said nothing.</p> - -<p>"Major, Taylor was taking a shot in the dark. We're a fantastically -slim hope—but we're the <i>only</i> one he's got!"</p> - -<p>"And I think that right now you are a greater enemy to Earth than all -her Invaders!"</p> - -<p>"'Liberty or death,' Major, that's what Taylor was saying to us when -he knowingly put his signature to a fluke error!"</p> - -<p>"Oh for God's sake Colonel, come off it! It sounds just jim-dandy but -you haven't even got a plan! Infinity to zero, those are your odds! And -if I thought you were seriously considering <i>not</i> going in. I'd—"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Major, you'd what?"</p> - -<p>The door opened. It was Grady. There was a communication folder in his -hand.</p> - -<p>Silently, Steele took the folder. There was an expectant look on -Zukow's flushed face as his superior read the brief message. Then -Steele looked up.</p> - -<p>"No," he said. "It's not a Notification of Error and Correction. Simply -a follow-up directive ordering all recalled craft to navigate the -final ten thousand miles of their Earth-approaches in intervals of not -less than twenty minutes each. Seems the Invaders have their entire -headquarters and supply set-up in a mother-ship circling Earth—and -they aren't taking any chances."</p> - -<p>"Under these conditions, then—"</p> - -<p>"As far as we are concerned, Major, the conditions are the same!"</p> - -<p>For a moment Zukow stood immobile, his dark eyes snapping down to lock -with Steele's. But the colonel's did not flinch. And then the Major -pivoted, and left Steele suddenly alone in the small office.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He had hardly completed the all-units bulletin when the call-buzzer -from Operations sounded. Within the next hour his six hundred men, his -twenty small J-88 Lancers would be loaded to the fins with all the arms -they could carry, and then....</p> - -<p>Fleetingly, the thought nagged at him. Was Zukow a coward—or right? -Twenty tiny J-88s balanced against the lives of four billion people.... -Yet there would be surprise, and the over-confidence of a powerful -victor after an easy conquest. And more, there would be the will of a -small band of men.</p> - -<p>He flipped up the buzzer-switch, and the Operations lieutenant appeared -on his small desk viewer.</p> - -<p>"Yes, lieutenant? Did your group have some difficulty in understanding -my bulletin?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir. We're getting things Space-shape at our end right now. But, -sir—you said that twenty craft were to be prepared."</p> - -<p>"Yes that's correct. All of them."</p> - -<p>"But there will be only nineteen, sir. Major Zukow blasted off nearly -a half-hour before your announcement, in a completely unarmed J-88 -and—he said—on your authorization."</p> - -<p>For a moment Steele said nothing. His mind seethed, yet he understood.</p> - -<p>"Very well, lieutenant. You will stand by for a second bulletin."</p> - -<p>The young officer's face faded from the screen, and Steele tried to -think. Obvious, of course, but he wondered how much Zukow could be -blamed. A frightened man. A coward, perhaps, doing what he thought was -right.</p> - -<p>But it was <i>not</i> right!</p> - -<p>And they must now act swiftly. For if the enemy were warned in -sufficient time....</p> - -<p>Infinity to zero, Zukow had said, were his odds. Perhaps.</p> - -<p>But there would be nineteen J-88s, armed to the fins....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They had kept Zukow waiting three hours after he landed. He had -immediately been placed under guard upon setting the unarmed Lancer -down at National Spaceport, and they had not believed him until his -shouts of protest had been overheard by one of their officers. It had -almost been for nothing—</p> - -<p>But now they were taking him to the Pentagon; into Taylor's own suite -of offices.</p> - -<p>And Taylor was there. A different-looking Taylor than Zukow -remembered—no longer the bulky, solid-looking figure. Wan, drawn, as -were those few of his staff working with him under the orders of the -alien commander.</p> - -<p>It was the alien who spoke. Taylor sat white and silent.</p> - -<p>"My officers inform me that you have attempted to convince them of an -impossible story, Earthman," he said. He was man-like, only taller. His -head was bald and like a fleshless skull, and there was the glitter of -a strong intelligence behind the widely-spaced double-lidded red eyes.</p> - -<p>And Zukow repeated his story. Shamefully, fearfully, he told it. And -as he did, new color flushed Taylor's lined face, then subsided to the -whiteness of helpless anger.</p> - -<p>"Your story will be checked carefully," the alien commander said in a -slurred, yet fluent English. "If it is true—"</p> - -<p>And that was all he said. There was a sudden flurry of movement, and -General Taylor had wrested a weapon from the alien's belt. He squeezed -its trigger in quick, desperate spasms, squeezed, squeezed....</p> - -<p>Zukow lay headless on the floor. Zukow—the alien commander, and his -guards.</p> - -<p>"Hide them! We've got to hide them!" Taylor was yelling at his -paralyzed aides. "If Steele can pull it off—can wreck that hellish -mother-ship of theirs, they'll be cut off down here—done for! Come on -for God's sake help me!"</p> - -<p>They sprang into action then.</p> - -<p>And with the weapons from the slain aliens, waited silently behind the -bolted office door.</p> - -<p>Taylor's wasted frame was tensed. Minutes ... hours ... or death in -seconds, perhaps. They could only wait.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They came out of the Sun.</p> - -<p>Nineteen flat, finned, stream-lined shapes, orange flame gouting from -them as from the lips of Hell itself, hurtling headlong with some -terrible vengeance glowing in their overheated tubes.</p> - -<p>Then Space was suddenly gaping holes of searing color, bursting -soundlessly as the nineteen became seventeen, fourteen, twelve.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The twelve became ten, and it was as though the bowels of the Sun -itself had erupted to the right and to the left of them, and everywhere -before and behind them.</p> - -<p>Eight of them completed the first pass, and already there were yawning -holes in the gleaming hide of their enemy.</p> - -<p>They turned, came on again. Their torpedo-tubes sparkled, and five full -salvos struck. The alien mother-ship spilled white flame from a gaping -rupture in her flank, and three ships were left to close a second time.</p> - -<p>Then two flat, finned, stream-lined shapes did not pull from their -pass. They hurtled, instead, headlong into the wounded juggernaut's -very heart.</p> - -<p>Drunkenly, and with almost deliberate slowness, it split in two, a -slain thing, spewing its broken structure and shattered creatures with -crazy abandon toward the great blue seas of Earth beneath.</p> - -<p>One now there was, its flag-ship insigne half-scorched from its -twisted, battered hull. Yet it hurtled through the blackness of Space -toward the planet below it, the flush of victory shimmering in its -overheated tubes.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was little to be said. General Taylor stood at the side of the -white hospital bed, and Colonel Geofferey Steele, his head swathed in -bandages, looked questioningly up at him.</p> - -<p>"General, did Major Zukow—"</p> - -<p>Taylor's mouth was grim. "He reached us—and the aliens. But we ... -managed to take care of the situation ... to give you time." The -General's features softened. "You and your crew—a magnificent job. -Earth is proud—"</p> - -<p>"We were lucky, sir," Steele attempted a grin. "Tried hard not to make -any mistakes...."</p> - -<p>Taylor smiled then, his laughter an emotional release they had both -been seeking. "I—occasionally overlook mistakes!" he said.</p> - -<p>And then the two men laughed together. 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